


My Sweet Darlin'

by eyeus



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Between Seasons/Series, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Season/Series 03, Season 3/4 Gap, Season/Series 04, chocolate kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:09:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4807529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeus/pseuds/eyeus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl’s heard how chocolate’s considered an aphrodisiac, but <i>damn</i>—this is something else <i>entirely</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Sweet Darlin'

**Author's Note:**

> The muses were approached for fic with fluff and cute chocolate kisses. From the abyss, they threw back a monster with feelings and porn. Their gifts are what they are, I suppose.

~

It’s just past midday, when the sun’s at its highest in the sky, that Daryl decides to catch up with Rick again.

He knows Rick will be in the fields, hard at work, tilling soil and scattering the seeds they’ve all worked so hard to bring back, so that’s where he goes. Tips a nod at Carol and Hershel on the way out—they’ve given him a list of things they’ll need, but there’s only one wishlist Daryl’s worried about right now.

“Hey,” Daryl calls. He makes his way out to the fields, hiding a snort as he passes some of their new Woodbury residents, struggling to skin rabbits he’d brought back day before last. Keeps his stride easy and relaxed, just a reflection of how he feels when he’s around Rick.

Rick pauses in his work as Daryl approaches, hand still wrapped around the hoe as he rests it on the soil. Tilts his head and squints against the sun, his other hand resting on his hip. “Hey, you,” Rick grins. It’s a small smile, like the sun peeking out from behind storm clouds, but it’s there all the same, and Daryl will be damned if he can’t make it just a little wider. “What’s goin’ on?”

“There's gonna be a run today,” Daryl says, by way of explanation. “Is there anythin’ you want?” He hitches the strap of his Stryker a little higher on his shoulder, before deciding to bear the weight across his chest instead. Watches as Rick’s eyes follow the motion of Daryl’s fingers, adjusting the strap from shoulder to waist, something vaguely predatory about his gaze. He’s not sure Rick even notices that himself, or if he does, he isn’t bothering to hide it anymore. Not with what they have between them now.

“The usual, I guess,” says Rick, glancing back across the field to where the prison stands. “We’re doin’ all right for food, but water’s low. Maybe medicine too, if you can find it.”

Daryl holds back the exasperated breath he’d been about to let out, the one to assure Rick they’d be searching for all those things anyway. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m askin’ what _you_ want.”

“Oh,” says Rick. “ _Oh_.” And that’s it right there, that’s the smile Daryl’s been waiting for, the slow-spreading one that lights his whole face, banishing that permanent furrow of worry between his brows. “Some seeds for the garden, then, if you can find them. Tomatoes. Turnips.” Rick jerks a nod toward the fields he’s cleared, that proud beam of his brighter than the sun. “Anything we can eat, I’ll try and grow them.”

With a nod, Daryl notes the items Rick’s listing off, filing them away like each is a safe and precious pearl Rick’s entrusted to him. Decides on how he’s going to get most, if not all of them, as he revels in the smile Rick graces him with, warm and broad and real. Rick looks heartbreakingly _beautiful_ like this, with his sun-kissed skin and the sheen of honest sweat from the day’s work bright upon his brow, and Daryl’s only too glad that the laughter lines at the corners of Rick’s eyes grow more pronounced with each peaceful day that passes at the prison. 

For a while, he thought he’d lost Rick, lost him forever to his grief and pain in the early days, but he’s finding an odd comfort in knowing Rick’s smile is slowly returning. No matter what the cause is—the others tell him it’s because of Daryl himself, but he knows it can’t be _that_ —it’s there, it’s lovely, and Daryl finds himself grinning now, an answering smile of his own.

“And Daryl,” Rick’s saying, “I think Hershel needed—”

“Gave me a list already,” says Daryl, turning away, hoping to leave before Rick gets started on what everyone _else_ wants again. He thinks Rick should be allowed to be selfish for once, because he’s too selfless for his own good. Just gives and gives and _gives_ until there’s nothing left of him. 

“Wait.” Daryl hears rustling and a faint _snap_ before Rick turns to him again. Opens his palm to show Daryl the pea pods in his hand. “Somethin’ for the road,” Rick says, sounding almost shy. He ducks his head and toes at something on the ground.

The gesture of harvesting his precious pea plants as a snack for Daryl is so unexpectedly sweet, that Daryl wants to laugh—Rick’s become the farmer in full, while Daryl’s still the forager, the hunter, like he’d been before. For a moment, he’s tempted to offer Rick a chance to come with them, so they could be what they were before, looking out for one another. Watching each other’s backs. 

But he knows Rick won’t come, and he’s all right with that. He’s all right knowing Rick is safe within these walls, and if Daryl’s got to be the one to leave, to make the runs, to protect that smile while Rick stays for Carl, for Judith, for all the things he needs to be and the time away he needs to take, Daryl’s fine with that. 

Instead, Daryl just nods his thanks and drops the pea pods into his pack. Looks up in time to notice Rick stepping into his space, slow and careful, like one would with a skittish animal. 

“Be safe,” Rick says, quiet. And just like that, the furrow of worry’s back in his brow, making something in Daryl’s chest ache, because it’s clear that Rick is worried for _him_. There are fingers slipping around Daryl’s wrist, warm, before Rick’s tugging him in for a kiss, soft and sweet and slow. “Don’t be too long.”

“Yeah,” says Daryl. He swallows around the lump that’s forming in his throat at how lovely Rick looks from this close, with the slightest color flushing his cheeks. The tinge of red to his nose from being out in the sun too long. The fine hairs along his jaw that have somehow managed to give Daryl beard burn on more than one occasion. He reaches out with his free hand to sift fingers through Rick’s hair, chestnut-light in the sun, before smoothing out the furrow in Rick’s brow with his thumb. “I won’t.”

~

The journey to their target—a hybrid pharmacy-convenience store just several miles west of the prison—takes the better part of the day, but the four of them return just in time for dinner. As Maggie, Glenn, and Sasha unload the station wagon of the supplies they’ve found, including water, dry foods, and a _generator_ chief among them, Daryl does a quick perimeter check of the prison’s fences before making a beeline for the fields.

Rick looks up from where he’s driven a spade into the dirt, when Daryl’s shadow crosses his own. Lets the spade drop to the ground as he takes in the spatters of blood covering Daryl’s vest, his arms, before reaching out to cup Daryl’s cheeks in his palms. 

“You’re safe,” he murmurs, his relief so palpable Daryl can almost _feel_ it. “You’re safe.” He leans in to press their foreheads together, and Daryl’s glad most of the others are busy helping with the unloading of their latest haul, because this raw, honest display of their affections isn’t something he’s comfortable with people seeing. But he lets Rick have this for now, because he can see how much Rick needs it.

“Wasn’t never in any danger,” Daryl says softly, winding arms around Rick’s waist, gentle. “Told you it’d be all right.” He doesn’t count the Walker that’d nearly taken out a chunk of his shoulder before Glenn brained it with a tire iron as _danger_. Not danger Rick needs to know about.

“Still,” Rick says, swallowing hard. “ _Still_.” He buries his face into Daryl’s neck as he winds arms around Daryl’s shoulders, murmuring _safe, safe, safe_ , as if he can’t quite believe the miracle that Daryl’s returned to him unscathed yet again. Breathes in hard, as if he can breathe Daryl in, keep him protected within the borders of his own ribcage somehow.

Daryl lets him breathe through it, slow. Rubs tiny, soothing circles into the small of Rick’s back, his shoulders, touching light kisses to Rick’s hair and the tips of his ears, to reassure.

It’s a moment more before Rick finally draws away, and though his eyes look suspiciously bright, Daryl knows better than to mention it. 

“Got you them seeds you asked for,” he says instead. He fans out within his hands several packets of seeds, including those for beets, carrots, cabbages and corn. While there’s more to what he’s got for Rick than this, Daryl figures he’ll save the more personal items for later, for when they’re back at their cell. 

It doesn’t matter whether it’s his or Rick’s; Daryl’s come to think of both as collectively _theirs_.

Rick plucks the packet of corn seeds from Daryl’s hands, wrinkling his nose in a way Daryl finds strangely endearing. “Corn?” he laughs, shaking his head. “You know that’s gonna be harder to grow here than the other vegetables, right?” He shades his eyes with the flat of his hand against the low-hanging Georgia sun, sky already awash with the cherry-purple clouds of sundown. “Gonna have to clear out more of the field to make room.”

“You said to bring ‘em and you’d grow ‘em,” says Daryl, with as little wounded pride as he can manage. Crosses his arms over his chest and huffs.

Rick just chuckles and takes Daryl’s elbow, the motion easy and familiar, his fingers squeezing a _thank you_ into warm skin. Brings their mouths together for a quick kiss that lingers just a little too long to be chaste. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s wash up for dinner.”

And if Daryl notices the way Rick’s discreetly patting him down, paired with small, furtive glances to check for bites or injuries, he doesn’t say a word—only lets the spark of warmth growing bright in his chest at that spread to his fingers and toes and every inch of his being.

~

“So what else d’you bring back today?” Carl says at dinner, as Daryl and Sasha distribute the smaller, personal items that aren’t food at the table. There are bandages and the antiseptic Hershel asked for, a fresh towel for Michonne to clean her blade with, and ammunition for the weapons Carol said they were running low in.

“Hold _on_ kid, I’m gettin’ to ‘em,” Daryl says, reaching into his pack and yanking out the comic books he’d pilfered from beside a cash register. “Got a lil’ somethin’ extra for you too,” he adds, winking, and Carl all but _tears_ the comic books from his hands and sits on them, as if to protect them with his life. 

Rick raises a brow at Daryl. “There somethin’ in those books I don’t know about?”

Daryl shrugs. “Just busty heroes in spandex suits.” He leans back to spoon the rest of the creamed corn into his mouth. “Ain’t nothin’ to worry about.” He shares a conspiratorial grin with Carl when Rick nods and turns away. The racy magazines he’d slipped in there are thin enough to hide easily, and he’s pretty sure Carl will have the sense not to read them right there in front of his father.

For Judith, Daryl sets aside a pacifier, some bottles, and a stuffed lion that looks like a carnival prize reject, complete with a lazy eye and an electric-blue mane. There hadn’t been much in the way of consumables in the shop, most of them either already gone or spoiled, but they’d managed to scrounge several flats of unopened cereal and energy drinks from the cargo bay after Glenn hacked the lock off, and after the dinner dishes have been cleared, Carol and Beth work on putting those away.

“Rick. Got somethin’ for you,” Daryl says, when he stops by Rick’s cell after. 

Carl’s taken Judith for the night—probably felt he owed it to Daryl, having smuggled in the contraband he’d asked for—and the cell is surprisingly quiet for once. He’ll miss Judith’s happy gurgling and bird-sharp shrieks of laughter, but it’s nice to have a night like this, every now and then. Privacy’s hard to come by these days, and _alone time_ ’s even rarer. 

“You mean besides the seeds?” Rick asks, confused. “Didn’t have to, you know.”

Daryl lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug, before kneeling to rifle through his pack’s contents. “Wanted to.” There’s a trowel in there that he pulls out, and a new pair of gloves, because he can’t bear the thought of Rick’s hands getting rougher than they need to. “Got a wheelbarrow in the back of the station wagon too, but I gotta fix the wheel before you can use it,” Daryl says. He shifts a little uneasily under Rick’s gaze, wondering if that’s the beginning of a familiar grin twitching at Rick’s jaw. “Y’know. For when we harvest the crops.”

It’s the work of a second, before Daryl realizes Rick’s expression doesn’t say _the hell did you bring back a wheelbarrow for_ , but _thank you for understanding, thank you for thinking of me_ , just _thank you, thank you, thank you_ , and before he knows it, Rick’s kneeling before him, his arms wound around Daryl’s waist, tight, as he guides their mouths together. A light press of lips that says everything Rick wants to, but can’t put into words. 

“Thought you meant somethin’ different, when you said you had somethin’ for me,” Rick laughs, when he finally leans away to take a breath.

Daryl lets himself card fingers through Rick’s hair, soft and warm, the unruly curls so like _Rick_ that he finds himself chuckling in return. “What, like…” He takes in Rick’s flushed cheeks and the way he can’t quite meet Daryl’s gaze, and frowns. “We still got some, don’t we?” He looks to the crate where they’ve hidden their supply of condoms and lube. They hadn’t been going through it _that_ fast, had they?

“ _Anyway_ ,” Rick says, clearing his throat, possibly trying to will away the flush from his cheeks and utterly _failing_ to, “Maggie stopped by earlier. Gave us a little somethin’ extra.”

Daryl raises a brow at the use of the word _us_. “Yeah?” he asks, suspicious. He’d thought her eyes had been just a little too bright with amusement, when she looked over at them during dinner. 

Rick beams in the direction of Maggie and Glenn’s cell. “Yeah. Got us a bag of chocolates. The good kind. Little round ones with the caramel centres.”

Daryl sighs at that. He still brought back things he thought the prison _needed_ , but he knows the others have been bringing back things that could be considered luxuries. Though he doesn’t have much room to talk, being guilty of that himself too. It only takes one look around Rick’s cell—at the chewed plastic toys and stuffed animals he’s brought back for Judith, the worn Navajo quilts he’d found and told Rick to use instead of the ratty prison sheets, and many other small amenities besides—to know Daryl has no room to speak of at all. Too many of these things he’d looked at, and thought _why the hell not_ before stowing them in his pack to take back to Rick and his kids. 

“Well, where are they?” Daryl asks. Rick wouldn’t have mentioned them if he didn’t intend to share. “Gimme some.” 

He’s not sure he likes the sly look in Rick’s eyes when Rick doesn’t answer, only leaning in to kiss Daryl again, this time swiping a tongue over his lips, seeking entry. 

Daryl lets him in, breathing deep to take in the scent of Rick, the taste of him, and _that’s_ when he licks into the hint of chocolate on Rick’s tongue, along teeth and the roof of his mouth. 

“Asshole,” he mutters, realizing. “You _ate_ them all?” He gives Rick the most injured look he can manage, though he probably ends up looking like a scowling kitten, with the way Rick laughs into his mouth. “Without _me_?”

Rick has the good grace to look guilty at that, and Daryl’s struck by the urge to punish him, to let him know just what he thinks of Rick eating all the chocolates meant for _them_. So he nips Rick’s lower lip, hard—not enough to draw blood, but enough to make Rick hiss and twist within his arms. Growls and presses his hand to the back of Rick’s neck, deepening their kiss. Searches for more of the sweetness he’s sure is inside, hitting gold when he tastes traces of chocolate and caramel and _Rick_ , groaning at how good this is, how good Rick feels against him, their bodies pressed against one another like this.

He’s only got a moment before Rick drags him into the lower bunk bed. Pushes him down, hands braced on Daryl’s shoulders, something burning fire-bright and wild in his eyes. For that, Daryl _does_ nip Rick’s lip hard enough to draw blood, a perfect pearl he spreads along his own lip with his tongue.

“Wasn’t chocolate,” Daryl breathes. A tease, a taunt.

And Rick _growls_ , crushing their mouths together for a kiss that’s bruising and messy and wet, flooding Daryl’s senses with the taste of sweetness and the copper of Rick’s blood. It’s so incredibly _hot_ that Daryl whines into Rick’s mouth, hips bucking toward Rick in utter want. 

Daryl’s heard how chocolate’s considered an aphrodisiac, but damn, this is something else _entirely_.

He’s not sure why they never thought of this before, but even that train of thought’s derailed when Rick slips his tongue into Daryl’s mouth again, tasting, testing, sharing what remains of the sweets he’s had. Daryl delves deep in return, searching for another hint of chocolate on Rick’s tongue, and another, finds them melting onto his own, and it’s heady and wonderful and sweet and all Daryl knows is that he needs more of it. More this, more Rick, more _everything_.

“Rick,” he gasps between breaths. Claws at the buttons of Rick’s shirt, actually wrenching the top three from their places, barely hearing as they skitter away on the floor. “ _Rick_.”

Rick nods, upending his shirt over his head and flinging it to the floor. Lets Daryl work his own vest and shirt off, before lunging forward again, pressing kisses to Daryl’s shoulder, his collarbone, his belly, mindful of all the scars and hurts that mark the landscape of Daryl’s body. Fumbles at Daryl’s belt and yanks his torn jeans to his knees, his ankles, before whipping it at the bars of their cell, the buckle of Daryl’s belt making a muted _clang_ against the thin cloth they’ve used as a curtain.

“Damn it,” Daryl snaps, fingers digging irritated into Rick’s shoulders. “Someone coulda heard that!”

Rick’s looking entirely too amused, as he kicks off his own jeans and leans up to nuzzle their noses together. “Woulda heard _you_ first,” Rick teases. He returns to mouth at the thin cotton of Daryl’s briefs before shifting the cloth back to nuzzle at Daryl’s cock. Darts his tongue out to lick at the shaft of it, the crown, before his lips close around Daryl, slow. 

“ _No_ ,” Daryl hisses, batting at Rick’s hand. Drags him back up for a kiss that now tastes of sweetness, copper and something that’s uniquely Daryl. _It ain’t Hershey’s_ , Daryl decides of the taste, _but it’ll do_. He’s caught between laughing, at how Rick’s given new meaning to the words ‘chocolate kisses’, or moaning, but it’s the latter that’s torn from his throat when Rick shifts his hips forward, the grind of his cock against Daryl’s almost more than he can bear. “Later,” Daryl breathes. “Not now.”

With a quick nod, Rick grabs what’s left of their bottle of lube, but as he readies himself to pour it on his fingers, Daryl reaches out and grabs his wrist. 

“Don’t need that,” he mumbles. 

Rick blinks. “The hell, Daryl. I’m not gonna hurt you to have this.” He shakes the bottle, and it’s clear there’s enough left by the sound of it. “Don’t worry, we’ve got plenty.”

“No,” Daryl says, more slowly this time. “I mean. I’m still…good. From last night, in the showers. Don’t need that.” 

He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him, turning down both the privilege of Rick’s mouth on him, sweet and sinful, and the pleasure of Rick opening him up with his fingers; he’s just so desperate to have Rick right _now_ that it _hurts_. Not for the first time, he wonders if there was something in those chocolates Maggie gave them, but the weight of Rick nestled between his legs is just so good that Daryl can’t wonder for long.

“All right,” Rick says, still doubtful. “If you’re sure.” He pauses long enough to roll a condom on and slick himself up, and as he hears the sound of the package ripping, Daryl figures they must have some left, or Rick would’ve _said_ something, but then Rick’s fingers are digging bruises into Daryl’s ass, the backs of his thighs, and the head of his cock’s pressing hard against Daryl’s entrance, slipping out, slipping away in his haste to get inside, making Daryl lose that train of thought completely. 

“C’mon, _c’mon_ ,” Daryl gasps, needing Rick, wanting him, wanting everything he has to give. He’s ashamed that when it comes down to it, he’s a _taker_ in the end, wanting Rick to give and give, the very thing he’s hated in others, but when Rick kisses him, all teeth and tongue like it’s something he _wants_ to give, Daryl can’t find it in himself to care. “What’re you waitin’— _ah_.”

It’s too much, too soon, and Daryl clutches the sheets as Rick presses up and in, muffling his cry by slapping a palm over his mouth. Rick must see something in Daryl’s expression, eyes pinched too tight against the ache, because he slows to a stop. Doesn’t push further, just rocks in place to let Daryl get used to him again. 

“It’s all right,” Rick soothes. “It’s all right, Daryl.” Presses a kiss to the inside of his knee. “There’s no rush.”

Daryl wants to curse at himself for not letting Rick use his fingers first. For thinking he was still relaxed enough from the night before to take Rick into him right fucking _now_. But he breathes and breathes, grateful for the lull, for Rick’s understanding, before scraping at Rick’s back with his nails as his body slowly adjusts. 

“All right,” he says, after another long moment, no longer content with the small, cherishing kisses Rick lays to his lips. The underside of his jaw. The sharp nip to Daryl’s collarbone, where he likes to leave his shirt open. It’ll leave a bruise—a wine-dark mark of Rick’s ownership, but there’s something darkly delicious and satisfying about it, because it means Rick thinks Daryl’s worth claiming. “All _right_.”

Rick nods and takes the cue to press deeper, slow, stopping each time Daryl tenses in his arms, or bites back a whimper. 

“C’mon,” Daryl goads, impatient, when he thinks he’s ready for Rick, for all of him. Rolls his hips, hoping for more, for _harder_. “You ain’t gonna break me.” Bites off a cry when Rick draws back, until he’s almost all the way out and slams back in, as if to say, _If you want harder, here you go_. “Yeah,” he nearly sobs, “like that, like _that_.”

It’s so good, each deep and reaching thrust, that Daryl’s left whimpering into the pillow, alternating between biting down on his fist or clapping his palm to his mouth to keep the volume of his moans to a minimum. Still, a tiny squeak escapes him when Rick lifts him bodily from the bed and guides him onto his belly. Lines their hips together, perfect, before pushing back inside him, the motion swift and smooth and sure. 

“ _Rick_ ,” Daryl gasps, before he’s left breathless, wordless, a whine building in his throat, only able to _think_ the words _yes_ and _fuck_ and _more_. Bites down on the pillow to keep quiet, because he doesn’t think he’d ever live it down if even Carl could hear them from the end of the cell block. 

Each thrust is rougher, more brutal than the last, like Rick’s breaking him, splitting him, taking all Daryl has to give, and the wild thought that emerges is that Daryl wouldn’t mind being broken by Rick. Not in this way. 

But then Rick’s allowing Daryl the pleasure of a only few more forceful thrusts before he pulls away, slow, shifting Daryl onto his back again. 

“The hell you doin’?” Daryl snaps, reaching out to claw fingers around Rick’s wrist, his grip eagle-tight and irritated. There’s no way he’s going to let Rick stop now, not when he’s so damn _close_.

There’s only a chuckle in response and a small, skittering kiss over his lips, before Rick pins the hand Daryl’s reached out to the pillow beneath him. Bullies his way between Daryl’s legs, his weight a comfortable, familiar warmth that Daryl just curls around because he loves these arms, these legs, loves _Rick_ , so so _much_ and _oh_ that’s Rick’s tongue in his mouth, hot and sweet and wet, and _fuck_ that’s Rick sliding inside him again, deeper than before, deeper than _ever_ —only this time Daryl can’t shut his mouth in time, with one hand pinned to the bed, the other curled around Rick’s neck, and the sweetest, highest cry escapes as Rick tightens his hips and _shoves_.

He tries to bat at Rick’s arms, his face, in revenge, because the entire _prison_ must’ve heard that, but Rick just wrestles Daryl’s arms to the side, pinning them down as easily as butterfly’s wings. Lets go just long enough to hike Daryl’s legs over his shoulders.

“Like you better like this,” says Rick, as he rocks his hips upward. Puts all his weight behind each thrust, grinning as Daryl twists beneath him. 

Daryl manages to bite down on his lip in time, to choke back the sob rising in his throat, but then Rick’s coaxing Daryl’s mouth open with his tongue, and it’s all Daryl can do keep from whimpering and shaking beneath him.

“Like you better on your back,” Rick breathes, licking into Daryl’s mouth, swallowing each of his cries, like he’s savouring each one. As if each tastes more delectable than the candies that have led to this. “Can see your face. See the way you move beneath me. The way you writhe and twitch and shudder, the way it’s all because of _me_.”

And in truth, Daryl prefers it this way too; it feels better, harder, deeper, when he’s on his hands and knees, when Rick strikes that spot inside him just so, but like this, he can see the way the moonlight outlines the curve of Rick’s shoulders. Illuminates the definition of his muscle as he moves within Daryl. The hard jut of his hips. The arch of his thighs.

“Rick, please,” Daryl whimpers, not sure of what he’s begging for, just knowing he needs it from Rick, needs it like air. “ _Please_.”

Rick pauses just long enough to tuck a pillow beneath Daryl’s hips, before he’s pushing in again, faster, harder, and the new angle of it is _brilliant_ , triggering the flare of white-hot burning inside Daryl, making him arch off the bed, shaking and shuddering, hips jerking hard as he spills across his belly.

His chest heaving with the effort to breathe, Daryl watches bleary-eyed as Rick’s thrusts grow harder in turn, desperate, rhythm giving way to sheer force, and it’s one thrust, _two_ , before Rick’s groaning, “ _Daryl_ ,” his voice strangled and wet as he comes.

Daryl reaches up to cup Rick’s cheeks in his palms. Pulls him down to kiss, to taste, as Rick moans into his mouth and twitches against Daryl, hard. Swallows down the sound of Rick as if it never was, because this is all for _him_ , all for _Daryl_ , and Daryl wants to keep this sound, this memento of Rick at the height of pleasure all for himself.

“Was good,” Daryl admits after, as Rick lowers himself gingerly onto his elbows, then all but collapses on Daryl with one exhaled rush of air. He loops his arms around Rick’s waist, gentle. Winds legs along Rick’s calves. He’s not sure how else to describe the experience without sounding like a trashy romance novel, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to say _that blew my fuckin’ mind_.

“Was more than good,” Rick mumbles into Daryl’s hair, curling arms beneath Daryl’s shoulders. Brushes kisses to the shell of his ear, a series of light and airy touches that end with an affectionate lick.

Daryl decides that that’ll do. “Yeah,” he agrees. “More ‘n good.” He closes his eyes and squeezes the arms he’s wound around Rick, once. Listens to the sounds of the prison settling into its roots, like the creaks and sighs of an old house. To the sounds of the night. 

Just breathes into Rick, and Rick into him, their chests rising and falling in rhythms perfect, complementary with each other, as in all things they do.

~

By the time their breaths have evened out and they’ve found a way to curl against each other on the creaky cot, the moon’s spilling porcelain-pale into the prison. Daryl can just make out the bare outline of stars outside, and he spends a moment watching the night sky before sidling into Rick, his back pressed against Rick’s chest. Lets his eyes slip shut again, sleepy, sated.

“You know,” Rick says quietly, amused, “I didn’t eat _all_ the chocolate.” He rustles what must be a small pouch of them hidden in the corner of the bed with his toes. “Saved most of it for you. So don’t you worry about that.”

Daryl only grunts in response, because he’d given up on the chocolates as being long gone, but he can’t deny that Rick’s thoughtfulness warms something in his chest, stirs the coal of _want_ in his belly, because it means they might get to do this again. 

He could live for chocolate kisses every day, Daryl thinks. Hell, even plain kisses, as long as they’re from Rick.

“You and the chocolate,” he tries, wanting to find a way to let Rick know he appreciated this…experiment or whatever the hell it was. “It's a good—” Daryl thinks of _pairing, combination, mix_ , before deciding none of the words quite fit. “It's nice.” 

_Nice._ As soon as he's said it, Daryl could kick himself, for finding the most generic word to describe what they'd just shared. Thank god Rick didn't stay for Daryl's wealth of words. Or lack thereof. 

“You know what else goes well with chocolate?” Rick hums, his breath warm against Daryl’s ear. “Besides you?” He shifts closer to Daryl, arms winding warm around him. 

Daryl knows Rick wants something, with the way he’s wound himself around Daryl, he _knows_ it. And he knows he won’t able to deny it to Rick, whatever it happens to be. 

It’s Rick who’s curled around Daryl like a cozy starfish, but it’s Daryl who’s wrapped around Rick’s little finger. 

“What. _What_ ,” Daryl says, when Rick starts shaking in silent laughter behind him. “C’mon, tell me.”

Rick’s lips brush against Daryl’s ear now, the airy kiss turning into playful nip. “Strawberries.”

 _Jesus_ , this man’s going to be the death of him. This might’ve started out with suggestive ideas of what they could do with just chocolate, but now thoughts of strawberries and all the sinful, wicked things they could do with _those_ start circling in Daryl’s mind, and like a dog with a bone, he just can’t let it go. 

“I’ll see about gettin’ us some seed,” Daryl allows, finally. Throws an elbow into Rick’s ribs, gentle, when Rick chuckles from behind him. “ _Strawberry_ ones, you dirty old coot.” Tilts his head just enough to see Rick’s smile in the moonlight filtering through the high windows of the prison. “Maybe find some wild ones from the woods for you to plant.”

Rick shows his thanks in quick, small kisses to the space behind Daryl’s ear, and even though they tickle, Daryl can’t bring himself to complain; just laughs soft and low, and tries to hide the smile Rick can’t see anyway into the pillow.

“Daryl, I—there’s somethin’ else,” Rick adds. He sounds regretful, like it’s bad news, somehow, and Daryl can’t help but tense in Rick’s arms. 

“What?” Daryl asks. “Another herd of Walkers? Or more of Woodbury’s?” He tries to shift in Rick’s embrace, to face him, because if this is serious, they don’t have the time to be indulging in chocolate kisses and cuddling beneath cozy quilts, as much as Daryl wants to. They need to act _now_ —

Rick simply tightens the arm he’s looped about Daryl’s waist, and rocks against him, gentle. Lets him know it’s not a major concern, just something that’s enough to make him worried.

“ _Rick_ ,” Daryl says, exasperated. He has half a mind to wrench himself free of Rick’s arms, regardless of how comfortably settled and sated he is, because if there’s trouble, then this contentment, this dream can’t last.

With a soft, resonant hum, Rick nuzzles into the space between Daryl’s ear and the column of his neck. Presses tiny, nibbling kisses to the curls at the nape of his neck. There’s laughter in his voice as he breaks the worst of the news. “That was the last of the condoms.” 

Daryl groans, for an entirely different reason than he’d expected, because _goddamn_ , that means they need to make another run for them, or go without until the next one. There’s pleasure to be gained from lips and fingers and tongues, he knows. But to go without Rick taking him, hot and rough and hard, or Daryl taking him in turn, on nights when Rick needs it, needs to cede control to him, is too much.

Not that they _need_ condoms. But it’s less mess and less raised eyebrows when they turn in their laundry for the week. 

He’s still trying to get past the time Michonne had stayed back at the prison, put on laundry duty after a supply run gone awry; they’d been alternating between hiding and running from a herd, when a car door from a junker in the road, twisted off its frame, had slashed her thigh, leaving a gash that took no small amount of stitches and Hershel’s expertise to close. Michonne—newly patched up and ornery as hell at staying behind—had taken one look at Daryl’s sheets, sized up the white streak he couldn’t scrub out, no matter how hard he tried, then flicked a glance to Rick by the window, where he was bouncing Judith on his knee in the sun. For one awful, tense moment, she’d been utterly silent, before outright _chuckling_ in Daryl’s face. 

He’d snatched the sheets back immediately, warmth springing hot to his cheeks, and snapped _It ain’t what you think it is_ , before stalking away in a huff. 

“Daryl.” Rick nudges his hips against Daryl, playful, bringing him back to the present, and Daryl leaves behind memories of mortification enough to grunt in response. “Got some good news for you too, though.”

Daryl decides that if he stays silent for long enough, Rick will simply get on with it, instead of drawing out his _good news-bad news_ game, the fucking tease.

Rick huffs out a laugh at that, knowing just when Daryl won’t play his game anymore. Nudges him aside until he can reach beneath the bed. “Lucky for us,” Rick says, “Glenn and Maggie thought to stock up on supplies for us.” He tugs out a sealed box, with a small bottle of lube wound to the front by a red rubber band. “Dropped these off along with the chocolates today.”

Daryl groans again, for a different reason this time. “Fuckin’ busybodies,” he mutters, though he’s glad for it. It’s odd, but he finds the recent trend of Glenn and Maggie having thought _Whatever we need, Daryl and Rick need too_ as heartwarming as it is embarrassing.

“Mmh,” Rick murmurs, leaving a trail of kisses along the curve of Daryl’s shoulder. “We could be those too,” he says. “Busy bodies, I mean.” His voice goes softer still. “Maybe next time you could be the one doin’ the…the fuckin’.” 

Daryl had been ready to snort a laugh at the horrid wordplay, and the expletive that sounds so foreign in Rick’s mouth, but at Rick’s offer, open and honest like that, something twists tight in Daryl’s chest. Rick _never_ offers, not unless something’s happened, and he needs Daryl to take the pain or fear or anger away in the ways they know how. So this sounds a lot like Rick’s way of saying _I trust you. I love you_. Words they’ve never said aloud but come alive in everything they _do_.

Daryl shifts back against Rick, crowding him partway against the wall, until they’re slotted together at hips and knees and toes. Covers the hand of the arm Rick’s slung around his waist, fingers slipping into the spaces between, before bringing roughened, split knuckles—reminders of the day’s work in Rick’s fields—to his lips. 

“Think I’d like that,” Daryl says, into the faintly lit night. It’s as much truth as he’s willing to admit for now, even if one day he’d like to say the words, to let Rick know just how it is Daryl feels about him. To prove his devotion, even if it’s in everything he does for the man, from the way he tracks game for miles to feed their family, or fixes all the little drips and leaks around the prison, like a damn resident handyman.

He thinks Rick hears the answer in his heart anyway, when he feels Rick smile into his hair. A gentle upturn of lips that wanders down the length of Daryl’s neck to the blade of his shoulder. Marks the spot with a small, safe kiss. “Me too.”

And even if he can’t shake the feeling that they’re living on borrowed time, that any moment this precious piece of Eden they’ve carved out here could come crashing down around them, Daryl looks to the future and allows himself to dream, to hope. 

To _believe_.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [eyeus](http://eyeus.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, if you want to chat about headcanons or send prompts my way!


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